


Russian Red

by Kangofu_CB



Series: Underneath Your Clothes [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, I spilled the sad in my porn, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Soft core feelings hard core porn life, sated murder raccoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Lipstick, that was new.“Syad’,” Natasha said, sounding more irritated than fond now.Bucky sat.She pulled out a pencil, rolled it up, and then made him look first the ceiling and then at the floor while she carefully lined his eyes.“Stop twitching,” she hissed.“You’re drawing on my eyes,” he growled.“Shut up, I’m making you beautiful so you can suckClint Barton’sdick, I am a saint.”





	Russian Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).
  * Inspired by [On My Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693619) by [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton). 



> This started out as random idea I tried to trick Clara into writing, but then I had IDEAS for it, and well, here we are. Lipstick blowjobs. We agreed to an exchange in the end, so listen LISTEN pls go read her version it’s got PURPLE lipstick and rimming and shaved groins and FEELINGS like... please god TREAT YO SELF
> 
> PS. My goal in life is to dirty this fandom up, I can't help myself.

It started out-

 

Not as a joke, exactly.

 

More as a passing comment. 

 

They’d been drunk. Well, Clint had been a little drunk and Bucky had been indulging in the fantasy that Tony’s top shelf whiskey could get him drunk, and they’d been swapping stories. First back-in-the-day things, and then old girlfriend and boyfriend things, and then fantasy things. Bucky had reluctantly admitted to a bit of a hang-up over silk stockings. The kind you couldn’t even get, these days, the kind that had been rationed even before he’d been drafted, and that went on the kind of legs that weren’t currently wrapped around his waist at night. 

 

Which was fine. It was a fantasy. Barely a memory, even, just the faint recollection of the feeling of warm skin through thin silk. 

 

And then Clint-

 

Clint had said something about the way lipstick looked on his dick and Bucky-

 

He could almost remember it. The waxy feel of lipstick against his mouth, a red stain on his collar - Steve bitching and moaning about getting it out in the wash - the way it had tasted when a dame let him get close enough to kiss her goodnight. 

 

It had sparked something in him -- a kind of itching neediness. Clint couldn’t give him silk stockings maybe, but Bucky could get ahold of lipstick, no problem.

 

Except, when he started searching online, it kind of was a problem. A staggering number of options stymied him pretty much immediately, because of course it was much complicated than simply choosing a color.

 

Bucky could admit when he was out of his depth, and unfortunately there was only one person he could bring himself to even approach the subject with.

 

“You want to borrow my lipstick?” Natasha said, disbelief clear in the arch of her eyebrows and the twist of her lips. 

 

“Sort of,” Bucky grumbled. She left him standing outside her door, shuffling in mild embarrassment. 

 

“Why?”

 

Bucky felt his face flush from his throat to his ears, and cursed the fact that he’d only just brought himself to cut his hair a few weeks ago. There were no long strands to hide behind now, it was cut short on the sides and fell across his forehead and Clint seemed to like it. And it had been nice, to get rid of the last removable remnants of the Soldier. It wasn’t his haircut from the 40s, but it wasn’t the Soldier’s lanky locks, either; it was something new, for his new normal. 

 

Natasha took pity on him, made a small noise of acknowledgement and stepped back into the apartment, allowing Bucky into her space. He followed her through the foyer and into the living room, tastefully decorated and almost completely impersonal. She leaned against a bookshelf and looked him over, assessing. 

 

“I wanna surprise Clint,” Bucky blurted.

 

“With makeup?” She asked, and the smirk on her face told Bucky she probably already knew but was going to make him say it.

 

Bucky didn’t answer her.

 

She waited him out. 

 

“With a blowjob,” he ground out, eventually, folding like a poorly constructed house of cards. He needed help, dammit, and who the hell else was he going to ask? Steve?

 

Natasha gave a little hum of acknowledgement, looking utterly satisfied with the knowledge that she could probably lord this over him for the remainder of eternity. “So you need something vibrant and long lasting and that will leave a mark.”

 

“Uh- yes?”

 

“You also need to shave.”

 

Bucky reached up to scrub a hand over his stubbled jaw. Yeah, okay, fair. 

 

“With a straight razor,” she advised, straightening up and turning to go down the short hallway that led to a bathroom. Bucky followed her after a moment, when she turned to look at him like  _ well? _ “You’ll get a closer shave that way.”

 

Her bathroom held a dizzying array of beauty products, bath products, and lights that were irritatingly bright. She maneuvered him onto the closed toilet lid and then turned his chin in her hand, assessing and thorough. “I assume you want red?”

 

Bucky hadn’t really considered the exact color he wanted. He’d googled, got overwhelmed, closed the internet and done some deep breathing exercises, and then come here. But now that she said it-

 

“Yeah,” he croaked. Cleared his throat. “Yeah, I want red.”

 

Natasha fluffed his hair off of his forehead and dragged her thumbs along his cheekbones. He could see her considering a million things and-

 

“Just the lipstick,” he warned, watching as she catalogued his face, and he could tell she was already planning a battle strategy. “That’s it. It’s a- a fantasy thing. Not a whole makeup thing.”

 

Her sigh was so deeply disappointed, Bucky was tempted to take it back. 

 

He didn’t.

 

“Eyeliner too,” she told him, somewhere between instructing and bargaining. “He’s going to be looking at your eyes, might as well make them stand out.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky said, rolling said eyes. “Eyeliner too. But that’s  _ it _ .”

 

“Alright,” she agreed, too easily. Bucky watched her pick through an entire rack of lipstick with narrowed eyes. She turned back with a handful of tubes, rolling them up and holding them near his face and then setting them aside. “Red is hard to get right,” she informed him as she worked. “It’s finicky and the color has to be right. It tries to bleed along the edges of your mouth. Normally, I’d tell you to line your lips first, but since you’re going to waste it sucking dick, I don’t suppose it matters.”

 

Bucky couldn’t help the laugh he snorted. “Not really, no.”

 

On the second to last tube, her eyes crinkled and her mouth turned up in the smile she got when she had a good inside joke. “Russian Red,” she informed him, holding up a black and silver tube. 

 

He rolled his eyes. 

 

“Hold still,” she ordered, “and keep your mouth relaxed. If the color looks good, I’ll teach you how to put it on properly.”

 

Natasha leaned over him, rolling the lipstick out of the tube and focusing on his mouth, and Bucky had a moment of deja vu, there and gone again, and wondered about their shared history. Natasha kept a tight lid on whatever it was that was in their past -- though Bucky couldn’t remember himself, he knew there was something.  He got flashes, sometimes, things that weren’t memories as much as they were impressions. Heat and movement; adrenaline and certainty. Sometimes Bucky knew what Natasha would do in the field before she did it, could anticipate her actions in a way that only happened with someone you knew well, but Bucky didn’t have any of the knowledge that went with the instinct.  It was frustrating and disappointing, and he wondered sometimes if hurt her in a way she would never admit to.

 

“Thank you,” he said, a moment before the lipstick touched his mouth.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up and be still.”

 

The Russian Red looked good, Bucky had to admit, once she was finished. It was a deep, vivid red, one that reminded him of dames’ mouths in the forties, not quite as dark as what Carter used to wear, thank fuck, but dark red all the same. 

 

It looked strange with the stubble, though, Tasha was right about that. 

 

“Stop admiring yourself and sit back down, I need to do your eyes.” She sounded exasperated, but looked fond, so Bucky spent a few more seconds looking at his own, strange face in the mirror, before sitting back down. Lipstick, that was new. 

 

“ _ Syad’,”  _ Natasha said, sounding more irritated than fond now. 

 

Bucky sat. 

 

She pulled out a pencil, rolled it up, and then made him look first the ceiling and then at the floor while she carefully lined his eyes.

 

“Stop twitching,” she hissed.

 

“You’re drawing on my  _ eyes _ ,” he growled. 

 

“Shut up, I’m making you beautiful so you can suck  _ Clint Barton’s _ dick, I am a saint.”

 

Afterwards, Bucky had to admit that the eyeliner  _ did _ make his eyes look different in some indefinable way that was probably appealing. They looked larger and darker and more blue than usual.

 

Natasha looked smug as fuck. 

 

“So can I borrow the lipstick or what?” Bucky asked.

 

“No.” 

 

Bucky gaped.

 

“I will order you your own. You can’t have mine because I know what you’re doing with it.”

 

Which, well, fair. 

 

* * *

 

If Bucky had ever given himself a more meticulous shave, he couldn’t remember it -- not that that meant much. He’d taken Natasha’s advice and used a straight razor, though it rankled him to know she was right about everything all the time, and now his face was smoother than it had been since roughly 1945. Not that Clint didn’t like his stubble - he did, he’d practically waxed poetic about it the night Bucky’d spent nearly an hour eating him out - but this was different. 

 

Bucky’s face was smooth and he was painstakingly applying red lipstick, which was just as annoyingly finicky as Natasha had warned him it would be, and he hadn’t even got to the eyeliner yet.

 

_ ETA 8 minutes _

 

Bucky’s phone chirped to inform him that Natasha was sending a text, and honestly, after this, Bucky probably needed to send her some sort of thank you gift. A new taser, maybe, or a fancy garrote disguised as a compact. Something thoughtful, yet refined. 

 

The lipstick would have to be good enough, he decided. It wasn’t quite as perfect as when Tasha had put it on for him, but it wasn’t bad, would certainly look fine in the low lights of the living room, dimmed to Bucky’s specifications. The eyeliner was easier, since he only had to do one eye at a time and smudge it with his fingers and then-

 

Oh fuck, what was he going to wear?

 

Okay well he wasn’t going to pull a shirt over his head and risk smearing the eyeliner, or worse, the lipstick. So shirtless it was. Which, also fine. Clint liked him shirtless. 

 

Pants then, what sort of-

 

Bucky rummaged through the closet until he came up with a pair of tight, black denim jeans that Clint had eyed appreciatively more than one time, and shimmied into them. He wasn’t wearing underwear, but he wasn’t expecting to keep the pants on long enough to chafe anyway. 

 

Bucky ducked back into the bathroom, made a token effort at smoothing his hair down, and then gave up. He hadn’t quite got the hang of a styling product that wasn’t Bryllcream, if he was being honest. 

 

And he was hoping Clint was going to mess it all up anyway.

 

Just as he was flipping the bathroom lights off, he heard the front door open, a soft sound that Clint made on purpose, so that he wouldn’t surprise Bucky with his entrance, and then shut again.

 

“Babe?” Clint called, and Bucky could hear the jangle of keys and the sound of Clint kicking his boots off. 

 

Natasha had taken him out for drinks, just to get him out of Bucky’s hair long enough to implement his grand scheme, and now Bucky’s stomach swooped with anxiety. This had all seemed like a good idea when he’d thought of it but now, standing in the dark bathroom, just barely able to see his reflection in the mirror - lips that much darker in the shadow - he was already second guessing himself. 

 

“Babe, you home?” Clint said again, and now he was making his way down the hallway. 

 

It was now or never, Barnes. 

 

Bucky squinted at himself in the mirror, gave himself a mental  _ get it together _ , and then stepped out of the room to lean on the door jam, just as Clint came into view. 

 

“Oh, hey, there you are-” Clint began, then stopped short, taking in Bucky’s appearance and posture. He blinked, surprise clouding his feature, and then the beginnings of intrigue. Bucky caught himself just before he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous habit he was suddenly much more aware of. It would ruin his plans if he chewed the lipstick off of his mouth. It felt strange on his lips, thick and smooth, and he rubbed his lips together absently, pressing the creamy lip color between them. 

 

Clint’s eyes darted to his mouth, and Bucky wondered how much he could tell of the color. 

 

Bucky darted into his space, pressing Clint back against the wall, and ran his nose along Clint’s jaw, before following it with his cheek. Clint’s own stubble rasped against the newly-smooth skin of Bucky’s face, sending a shudder down his spine. 

 

Oh, shit, he hadn’t expected that. 

 

“Hi,” Bucky murmured into his ear, nosing at the skin beneath the lobe, letting Clint feel his breath against bare skin. 

 

Clint cleared his throat roughly. “Hi. Is that, uh. Are you wearing…” he trailed off, stymied. 

 

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Mmmm,” he hummed, and wrapped his hands around Clint’s waist, inching his t-shirt up so that he could get to the warm skin beneath. “You mentioned something about how it looked on your skin.”

 

There was a wheezing sound. Bucky reached for the button fly of Clint’s jeans, slowly working each button loose. “I said it looked good on my dick,” Clint managed, already sounding wrecked, “not my skin.”

 

“Was that what you said?” Bucky answered thoughtfully. He slipped his hand into Clint’s jeans to palm at his cock, already filling with blood under his touch. “I think it’d look good all over.” He pressed his lips, very lightly, against Clint’s throat, darting his tongue out to taste the skin there, then leaned back to look at his handiwork. 

 

There was a mark, for sure. A perfect impression of his lips against Clint’s pulse point and  _ oh shit _ he had not expected to like that as much as he did. 

 

This had started out as something fun that he could do for Clint and it was quickly turning into something fun he was doing for himself. 

 

“Shirt off or on?” He asked, pulling at the hem of Clint’s t-shirt.

 

“What?” Clint asked. His head was tipped back against the wall, eyes closed, and he was already breathing faster than usual.

 

“It’s your fantasy, sweetheart. You want your shirt on or off?”

 

Clint answered by stripping the shirt over his head, dumping it on the ground beside them. Bucky snorted, but he worked Clint’s cock out of his jeans and gave it a few slow pumps, working him up to full hardness. 

 

Then he dropped to his knees.

 

Clint made a sound like he was dying. 

 

“Hands to yourself,” Bucky told him, pressing his wrists against the wall. Clint took it a step further and put them behind his back, leaning his weight on them. “At least until I tell you you can touch.”

 

Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips against the head of Clint’s cock, leaving another perfect lip impression, right there, and yeah, yeah this was gonna be  _ good _ . 

 

Thank fuck Natasha had ordered him his own tube of lipstick. 

 

“Russian Red,” Bucky informed Clint, admiring the color against the flushed head. 

 

“Huh?” Clint managed, blinking down at him, looking dazed and wanton. 

 

“The color,” Bucky explained, running his thumb from the base of Clint’s cock to the bundle of nerves just under the head. “It’s called Russian Red.” He smirked. “Looks good on you.”

 

“Fuck,” Clint breathed. “It looks good on  _ you _ , but feel free to get it all over me.”

 

Bucky grinned outright, then licked the head of Clint’s dick. Clint whimpered. 

 

Leaning forward, Bucky took a deep breath, then swallowed the whole of Clint’s dick in one wet glide, carefully wrapping his lips around the base. 

 

Clint’s knees buckled, but he managed to keep himself upright, letting out a low, punched-out groan. “Oh  _ fuck _ ,” he said, and his arm twitched like he wanted to reach for Bucky’s head. Bucky swallowed around the length in his throat, letting himself adjust, letting Clint feel him do it, then lazily worked his way back up. 

 

At the base of Clint’s dick was a perfect circle of deep, vivid red. 

 

Bucky was really starting to see the appeal. 

 

“This what you wanted, honey?” Bucky asked, fisting Clint’s dick above the mark. “To see where my mouth’s been on you?”

 

Clint glanced down, sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he choked out. He closed his eyes, like the sight of Bucky on his knees was too much for him, like Bucky didn’t get on his knees for Clint regularly. 

 

God, the lipstick was really doing it for him.

 

Bucky shuffled closer, rubbed his cheek against Clint’s cock, letting him feel the smooth skin, and mouthed along his hip bone, leaving smears of red in his wake. It looked stark against Clint’s pale skin, messy and possessive and  _ fuck _ Bucky liked it. 

 

He left matching marks on the other side, and along the ridge of Clint’s abs, just above the tight curls at his groin. 

 

“Bucky,” Clint managed, “you’re killin’ me.”

 

“You want somethin’, you gotta ask for it,” Bucky said, nipping at the sharp jut of his hip. Bucky wasn’t even sure he still had lipstick on at this point, but when he backed off there was still a slight smear of red left behind. 

 

“I want your mouth on me,” Clint said, desperate and pleading.

 

Bucky licked the thin skin above Clint’s hip, like an asshole.

 

“On my  _ dick _ ,” Clint ground out, and he wrenched his arm from behind him, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to, and let it fall to the side. 

 

Reaching for it, Bucky drew Clint’s hand to his head, resting it against the back of his skull. He bent forward, letting the head of Clint’s dick rest against his parted lips, and looked up through his lashes at Clint.

 

“Like this?” he asked, tonguing at the slit, tasting the saltiness of precome and Clint’s skin. 

 

Clint moved his hand, sliding it up to tangle in the longer hair on top of his head, and  _ twisted _ , pulling Bucky’s hair tight between his fingers and dragging him down his dick, until Bucky’s mouth was stuffed full of cock.

 

It was Bucky’s turn to moan, to let his eyes flutter shut. 

 

Clint’s hips jerked, forcing his cock deeper, and Bucky relaxed into it, let Clint fuck into his face, distantly wondered if he was still smearing lipstick all over Clint’s dick, just like he’d wanted. Clint pulled back, then thrust forward again, slow and deep and steady. Bucky tilted his head, opened his jaw wider, and moaned again. 

 

Encouraging. 

 

Wanton. 

 

Bucky dragged his eyes open, glanced up to find Clint staring down at him, flushed and aroused and staring at his dick pushing into Bucky’s mouth like it was a goddamn divine revelation. 

 

“Fuck,” Clint huffed, and thrust harder, faster. 

 

Bucky hollowed his cheeks, tongued at the cock in his mouth as it rocked in and out. 

 

Clint gripped his hair even tighter, the stinging pain shooting straight to Bucky’s dick, hard in his pants, just from this, just from Clint’s cock in his mouth and the look on his face. 

 

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Clint said.

 

Bucky sucked a sharp breath in through his nose, arousal spiking. 

 

Clint’s other hand came up to cup Bucky’s jaw, to thumb at his lower lip where it was stretched around Clint’s cock. 

 

“So pretty all the time,” Clint told him, “but you made yourself extra pretty for me, didn’t you baby? Shaved your jaw and painted your mouth so it would look good around my cock.”

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at Clint’s face, at the arousal and adoration on his face, while he looked at Bucky like he was something worth looking at, some _ one _ worth looking at. He definitely couldn’t look at it and hear it in his voice at the same time. 

 

Clint thrust deeper, almost to the point of choking, forcing Bucky to take his dick deeper in his mouth, into his throat, until Bucky’s eyes were watering under the lids, and he had to open his eyes to blink the tears away. 

 

“That’s it,” Clint coaxed, “look at me, you look so good,  _ fuck _ .” 

 

Bucky did his best to keep his eyes open as Clint fucked his mouth, rough and stuttering, his hips losing their steady rhythm as he got closer and closer to orgasm. He was flushed from his chest to his cheeks, his lower lip tucked between his teeth as he kept staring at Bucky, kept watching.

 

“I’m gonna come,” Clint warned, exhaling the words in a rush, and Bucky moaned around him, giving permission,  _ encouraging _ him to come down his throat. 

 

Clint’s eyes fell shut as he tipped over the edge, his fist curling that much tighter in Bucky’s hair, his breath stuttering in his chest. He shoved his cock as deep as he could manage it, until Bucky’s nose was pressed into his groin and he couldn’t even  _ breathe _ around it, just swallow and grip Clint’s thighs for balance, his fingertips sliding on the smooth, worn denim of his jeans. Clint’s cock was so deep in his throat Bucky could only barely taste him, musky and bitter, as he swallowed him down while Clint shuddered above him, until he slumped against the wall, panting. 

 

The fingers in his hair went from clenching to petting, smoothing Bucky’s hair down, and Bucky eased off Clint’s spent dick, slipping it between his lips and chasing the trails of saliva and come with his tongue. It was smeared with lipstick too, and Bucky was perversely proud of himself, looking at the streaks of red painted dark against Clint’s pale skin.

 

Bucky sat back on his heels, his own chest heaving as he panted for oxygen, tried to breathe around the arousal screaming in his veins. Clint looked  _ wrecked _ , half-naked and leaning on the wall like it was the only thing keeping him on his feet, red lipstick painted across his groin, his dick hanging out of his pants. It was a good fuckin’ look, one Bucky wanted to imprint on his brain forever, keep to take out and examine and probably jerk off to. 

 

Clint moved, muscles shifting and coiling as he forced himself to straighten up, looking down at Bucky with something predatory in his gaze.

 

“C’mere,” he said, reaching down to tug Bucky to his feet, and then he twisted, a quick, smooth glide of motion that left Bucky’s mouth dry, that display of strength and grace that was unique to Clint’s movements, some combination of circus agility and combat readiness. Clint pressed Bucky to the same stretch of wall he’d previously occupied, crowding him into it as his eyes examined Bucky’s face. Bucky knew, vaguely, what he looked like - mussed hair and swollen lips - but he wondered if there was lipstick smeared on his face, if he had come on his chin. 

 

Clint cupped his jaw, fingers smoothing over the bare skin there, and Bucky shut his eyes, leaning into the touch. 

 

“Your stubble drives me crazy,” Clint said, conversationally, like Bucky wasn’t panting for it under hand, “but I like this too. So smooth.” He slid his fingertips against Bucky’s jaw and down to his mouth, running his thumb along Bucky’s lower lip from corner to corner. “Fuck,” Clint breathed, and then he leaned in to plunder Bucky’s mouth with his tongue, the first kiss they’d had since Clint walked in the door.

 

Bucky’s mouth felt hot and oversensitive, and the feel of Clint’s tongue and teeth against his lips and in his mouth was even better, was even  _ more _ than usual. Clint slotted his thigh between Bucky’s and Bucky arched into it, pressing his throbbing dick into the hard muscle and rutting against it. 

 

Reaching down, Clint slid a hand between them, cupping Bucky’s cock and squeezing, making Bucky’s hips hitch, dragging a groan out of his chest. Clint deftly unsnapped his jeans and tugged the zipper down, freeing Bucky’s cock.

 

“You’re not even fucking wearing underwear,” Clint panted into his mouth. “Fuck, these jeans make me insane and you’re just-  _ fuck _ .” He wrapped his fist around Bucky’s dick, smoothing the glide with precome. He was so hard that he was practically dripping, the head of his dick peeking out of his foreskin. Clint twisted his hand, jerking Bucky off exactly the way they both knew he liked, fast and rough. His other hand slid between Bucky’s back and the wall, forcing him to arch, forcing him up on his toes a little, so that he was at Clint’s mercy.

 

Not that he wanted to be anywhere else. Climax was approaching at the speed of fuckin’ light and all Bucky could do was to grip Clint’s shoulders and hold on for the ride. He didn’t even need to rock his hips, just let Clint stroke him to completion.

 

“I’m gonna-” Bucky gasped, his voice hoarse and fucked out. He was slurring his words, barely able to get them out.

 

“Yeah,” Clint said, swiping his thumb over the head of Bucky’s dick, “Yeah, come on. Come all over me.”

 

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, because he  _ wanted _ , fuck he wanted, wanted to come all over Clint, wanted to mark him up even more, more than the lipstick prints and the scratches he was definitely leaving on Clint’s skin, wanted to make Clint  _ his _ , in every possible way. 

 

“Oh shit,” he stuttered, and then the whole world whited out for a handful of heartbeats, Bucky’s breath trapped in his chest as he came, hard, in spine-tingling waves of pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.

 

He slumped against Clint, his forehead pressed into a bony clavicle as he panted, wet and shattered and utterly destroyed. 

 

“So,” Clint said, after a minute of heavy breathing on both their parts. He was gingerly holding his hand against Bucky’s hip, just resting his fingertips there, with come cooling on his hand. It made Bucky want to laugh. “That happened.”

 

Bucky did laugh at that, a gentle huff of amusement that escaped between breaths. “Yeah,” he agreed.

 

“Where’d you get the lipstick?” Clint asked, sounding more curious than anything. 

 

“I asked Tasha.”

 

Clint reared back, horrified. “You blew me with  _ Natasha’s lipstick _ ?”

 

Bucky flopped back against the wall, too tired to hold his head up now that Clint wasn’t being a convenient headrest. He sniggered. “No, she bought me my own tube.”

 

“Oh thank god,” Clint managed. He looked down at his hand, gave a half shrug, and then wiped it off on his own jeans. 

 

“You’re a mess, Barton,” Bucky told him, rolling his eyes. Between the come stain on his jeans, the lipstick on his groin, and the fact that he still hadn’t tucked his dick away, he looked thoroughly debauched and for all that Bucky was teasing him about it, he was actually  _ really _ enjoying the view. 

 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one with lipstick on your chin.”

 

“You like it,” Bucky countered, but he did reach up and swipe at his chin with the back of his hand. It came away faintly smeared red, and he sighed. 

 

“Yeah,” Clint admitted, stepping in close again. “Yeah, I kinda do.” He leaned in, pressing his mouth softly to Bucky’s. “I like the eyeliner too, but you’ve kinda got that emo Winter Soldier vibe going on now, ‘cos it’s smeared.”

 

“Fuck off,” Bucky grumbled, but there was no heat in it, and he let Clint keep him close, arms around his waist, his chin on Clint’s shoulder.

 

“Gimme like an hour,” Clint said. He paused thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. “Can I borrow the lipstick?”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sev and Michelle for helping me find a title, to Nny and Lissa who graciously beta-read and offered suggestions, and to Bad Decision Buddies discord for sprinting this to completion and also embarrassing me with an excess of affection.
> 
> You guys are great.
> 
> I love everyone in this damn bar.


End file.
